Much as hip-hop stars once did, now the giants of emo concentrate on building their dynasties. The project of Fall Out Boy bassist Pete Wentz, Fueled By Ramen records has become the imprint of choice for the pretty, punky and slightly sad, and their latest recruits are upstate New York's Cute Is What We Aim For. Not that there's much for them to be sad about: with their debut album More Blush To The Same Old Blood Rush having sold more copies than even that by Panic! At The Disco, their material trades in those other high school currencies, gossip and self-obsession. Bitched about in the sewing circle that is punk rock, and convinced of their own wit, they may leave grown-ups ambivalent, but their poppy self-confidence has many fans among less sceptical teenagers.

Their new single refers to Muhammad Ali as having once enjoyed "the greatest comeback since Lazarus", and for the members of the Hours, the same could be true. Indie lifers to a man, Martin Slattery and Antony Genn have come a long way to arrive at the anthemic piano-led rock they now call home. Slattery has been an itinerant sideman with such varied talents as Robbie Williams and Black Grape, while Genn has been on the periphery of indie consequence for years: a streaker at Elastica's Glastonbury appearance in 1995, the person about whom Pulp's song Live Bed Show was written, a producer for Joe Strummer. While most would have long since gone straight, Genn has stuck it out, and one would suspect The Hours to be his last hurrah. But you certainly don't survive this long without learning a few tricks.

For a while it seemed that rock and dance were destined to be happy together; now it seems the relationship's over. After a couple of years creativity in the indie/dance field, this new NME tour serves notice that the pair have gone their separate ways: these gigs demonstrate that even if guitar music isn't necessarily about cultural change, it can still offer commercial success. Perhaps it's yet to come for the debut act Mumm-Ra, or even for the Horrors, whose greatness is maybe more at present measured in terms of their notoriety, but elsewhere, some old school guitar acts show how they can make their way into the mainstream. From Wales, the Automatic and their signature composition from last year, Monster, have already turned plenty of heads. From Scotland, it's the View who make these developments seem remarkable: ragged, teenage and recalling the passion of the Undertones, they make music that feels like the sum of their lives so far.

As Adam Ant once advised, ridicule is nothing to be scared of - words, it would appear, that have recently been taken as gospel by London's Bloc Party. Though their first album displayed a band very much about coolness and poise - all snowy scenes and wilful vagueness - their soon-arriving second, called A Weekend In The City, seems to be very much more specifically about being accepted on one's own terms. Now hoping for re-election on a "love me, love my slightly studenty lyrics" manifesto, the album finds the band's singer/songwriter Kele Okereke sticking his neck out and addressing his life in rather more specific terms than he's previously attempted. Occasionally it backfires a bit, it's true, but in a way it's that which makes Bloc Party pretty unique: while some if their British contemporaries retain a certain tongue-in-cheek quality, this is a band that wants to sound as serious as life in one's 20s can sometimes feel.